a celebration of love in the unchoreographed dance of life
On this Friday night he prepares for the dance much to his girl’s delight. On this Friday night her smile is country-morning bright taking pictures out by the manse. On this Friday night he prepares for the dance.
It was meant to be, you and me. Let us dance our own jubilee. It was meant to be, you and me, these moments, in our finery, taking pictures out by the manse. It was meant to be, you and me. Let us dance.
My preacher-son and his girl, going to the Father-Daughter dance.
with thanks to the Two Writing Teachers community for providing a place to share our unfolding stories, even when they are poems.
Every morning, at the corner of the pond when I see the huddled heron it calls my hunkered heart to respond. Every morning, at the corner of the pond with a wave of nature’s reflective wand my muddled spirit is less bleak, less barren… every morning, at the corner of the pond when I see the huddled heron.
Come December, I’m remembering you in the lights and silent night —how years, like snow and feathers, flew— Come December, I’m remembering you at sight of ruby-red cardinals, too. On the wings of the morning, all is bright… come December, I’m remembering you in the lights and silent night.
December is my grandmother’s month. She was born the day after Christmas, was married in the middle of the month at age 20, and died the day before Christmas Eve, at 90. She loved the season, children, cardinals, and the color red, symbolic of her name: Ruby. “Silent Night” was her favorite carol; whenever I hear it, she is near. Her home place and resting place are in the outskirts of a rural town named for the dawn… “on the wings of the morning” is borrowed from my favorite Psalm, 139, a hymn to the omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipresence of God.
The cardinal ornament in the photo was a gift from a friend yesterday. I hung it on the tree last night after choir practice with the kids at church. They’re singing “Silent Night” in the worship service on Sunday.